


Reckless Serenade

by GubraithianFire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anal Sex, Bisexual John, Blow Jobs, Dancing, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Happy Ending, John "Three Continents" Watson, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Musicians, Rimming, Sexual Experimentation, Sexuality Crisis, Smut, Song Lyrics, Teenage Drama, Teenlock, Top John Watson, he's a confused bisexual complicated sexy beast okay, john is just confused, serenades, sherlock is a small child instead, they play in a band uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GubraithianFire/pseuds/GubraithianFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is seventeen. He’s handsome, he plays the guitar and he’s captain of the rugby team. He adores the Arctic Monkeys, and girls fawn over him when he wears his Ray-Ban Caravan and sings slow ballads in the local pub with his band. John is also (perhaps) bisexual. He’s not sure. He should experiment, he thinks, just to be sure. Sherlock, his gay best friend and bassist in his band, feels like the right choice.</p><p>Or the one where John pretends not to have feelings, Sherlock has way too many, and Alex Turner’s lyrics fix everything. More or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Frozen Pitch" & "Thermos Flask"

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another fic that was buried in my folders and my friends convinced me to post u.u
> 
> Hope you enjoy, I really loved writing this trope!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another fic that was buried in my folders and my friends convinced me to post u.u
> 
> Hope you enjoy, I really loved writing this trope!

_\---_

 

_“The eyes are getting heavier and whether you’re asleep or awake is a mystery_

_Would a kiss be too much to ask?”_

[Too Much to Ask](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d09GTcacnUY), by the _Arctic Monkeys_

 

\---

 

“Are you one hundred percent sure?”

“John.”

“Okay, okay I trust you. Jeez. Right. How was it again? The spl- fuck, th-the split sleep and shit bit.”

“ _Split sleep reaps rewards from ill-fitting thoughts_ ,” Sherlock Holmes exclaims exasperated, for what sounds like the hundredth time that day.

John digs the balls of his palms in his eyes, repeating like a litany the line his best friend just delivered. He stops abruptly. “Sherlock.”

Said teen lifts his face from the pillow where it was buried, in a dramatic attempt to suffocate himself.

“Are you one hundred percent su-”

“Oh my God, yes!” Sherlock yells, throwing his hands in the air, “Yes, _Pretty Visitors_ is your dear Mary Morstan’s favourite Arctic Monkeys song, I’m sure of it.”

John nods, pacing the length of his room another couple of times before flopping on the bed next to Sherlock.

“Sorry, it’s just that we’ve never played it, I don’t how it will work out”

“It’ll work out just fine,” Sherlock says with a reassuring smile, and John’s heart flutters in his chest. He likes it when Sherlock smiles.

His phone rings, and John reaches in his pocket to take it out. He peers at the screen, and his stomach drops when he sees Irene Adler’s name above the “swipe to answer” sign.

“Shit, it’s Irene, it can’t be good news,” he murmurs. Sherlock rolls his eyes and takes John’s phone from his hands.

“Hello?” He says, immediately putting the loud speaker on.

“Hey boys,” Irene chirps, obviously aware that they are both on the phone, “We have a little problem with the mics.”

John takes a deep breath, fearing the worst. “What kind of problem?”

“You need five mics, right?”

“Yes,” John replies, counting on his hand, “One for Mike’s keyboard, one for Bill’s drums and three for me, Sherlock and Greg.”

“Well, we have four.”

Both Sherlock and John sigh in relief. “That’s not a problem at all,” John smiles at Sherlock, who nods at the unvoiced question.

“Yeah, Sherlock and I are just gonna share our mic, nothing we haven’t done before, it’s actually easier to harmonize with the same one,” he continues, and watches as Sherlock gets up and retrieves his bass from the floor.

Irene pauses, and when she answers there is an evident smile in her tone. “Sure you will. Well, see you in thirty-eight minutes, don’t be late!”

Then she hangs up, and John lowers the phone on his belly.

“Thirty-eight minutes,” he chuckles, “That girl scares me.”

Sherlock huffs a laugh from where he is knelt on the floor, placing his precious bass in its case with great care. “You can say that again.”

John smiles at him before turning his head again. He closes his eyes and starts revising the set list they are gonna perform that night.

It’s not long; this concert is more of a favour they’re doing for Irene, who has been nagging them since forever to use their popularity amongst the school student body as a bait to help her in the fund raising for the LGBT club.

Well, she had also said that it was their obligation, since three of their members represented the G and the B in LGBT. Sherlock, Lestrade and Murray really couldn’t dispute that point.

So here they are, playing for fucking free when they are way more than broke. Irene has promised to pay them in free drinks after they finish though, so it’s not that bad.

The pub where they usually play gives them twenty quid each for every performing night. Which is just a plain scam, but they’re fine with it for now. They use the money to buy better instruments and new equipment. John has recently set his eyes onto a beauty of a guitar, on a miraculous discount at the local shop, and he can’t wait to buy it. 

He gets up and starts helping Sherlock putting their instruments away.

“Thirty-six minutes, tiger.”

 

\---

_“She was walking on the tables in the glass house, endearingly bedraggled in the wind.”_

On the stage, Sherlock and John play the last song of their setlist. The other members of the band are already drinking and dancing on the dancefloor, while Sherlock and John sing in the same mic. It’s not necessary for them to share it now that Greg is off stage, but they do it anyway.

Sherlock is now playing the solo guitar, even though he is the bassist, while John is on the rhythmic. They do magic when they are in this combination.

 

“ _Before this attraction ferments, kiss me properly and pull me apart_.”

 

Sherlock can barely breathe as he shouts this line in the mic, John’s skin incandescent as it rubs against his cheek. Sherlock can feel John’s jaw muscles move, and he can’t, not for anything in this entire universe (and a few more) take off his eyes from John’s lips. A dart of pink tongue and Sherlock’s knees give out. How in heaven is he still singing?

John’s body is quivering, his hand moves so fast on the strings Sherlock doesn’t know how the fuck John can keep that level of speed _and_ sing at the same time. He’s amazing.

Suddenly, for no discernible reason whatsoever, Sherlock looks up from John’s lips and finds that John is staring at him. With an expression so intense that Sherlock misses a line.

John sings it for him, and it doesn’t even sound like it was made by mistake. John smirks at him, but after they sing the “kiss me properly and pull me apart” line again, John sobers up and his gaze fixes on Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock is lost.

 

“ _The idea of seeing you here, is enough to make the sweat grow cold_.”

 

Sherlock is still playing and singing, somehow, but it all feels surreal.

The cheering crowd disappears, the guitar in his hands as well, and so the stage, the sounds, everything narrows down to John and John only.

The song finishes with John and Sherlock harmonizing, cheek to cheek, eyes glued to each other’s face.

The crowd goes mad, screaming and clapping their hands, but Sherlock doesn’t even notice, busy as he is trying to make sense of what is happening.

John does though, of course he does, and breaks eye contact to grin at the audience.

“Thank you,” he says breathlessly, leaning on the mic with his whole weight. The charm is broken. Still Sherlock and John, best of buddies, playing together like usual. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? Get your shit together, Sherlock.

“Thank you all so much,” John adds, laughing a bit as people keeps cheering.

Then, someone yells it.

And another joins in.

And suddenly, the two hundred and something people in front of them are screaming “KISS! KISS! KISS!” at the top of their lungs.

Sherlock gapes like a fish, his ribcage tightening impossibly around his lungs, knocking the air out of him. His stomach clenches and unclenches, sending spikes of fear and anxiety and worry up his spine.

He looks at John, who is laughing like a moron. Of course this is a joke for him. He’s not in love with Sherlock.

This is the worst case scenario possible in the history of fucking ever. It’s a goddamn nightmare.

If John doesn’t kiss him, Sherlock will have proof that John is so disgusted by the idea of kissing him that he won’t do it even as a joke. If John does kiss him though, it will mean that he doesn’t find the idea repulsive, he just chooses to never kiss Sherlock.

And Sherlock doesn’t know which outcome will be worse on his psyche.

He turns to leave the stage, but strong fingers grip his wrist, pulling him back and spinning him around. He ends up face to face with John, who is smiling warmly up at him. His cheeks are rosy thanks to the alcohol flowing through his veins, and he looks like he’s going to devour Sherlock.

And perhaps he is.

John turns to the crowd, bringing the mic to his lips, still gripping onto Sherlock’s wrist with the other hand.

“You want me to kiss the prettiest boy in the pub? No problem for me,” John says into the mic, that he drops as soon as he’s said this.

His hands come to frame Sherlock’s face, lowering it to meet John’s lips.

John’s eyes seem to ask Sherlock’s permission, and Sherlock knows it. John is going to kiss him.

And Sherlock knows what it’s like to properly breathe for the first time in his life.

Even if his breath smells like cheap beer, and his scratchy cheeks are sweaty, and this doesn’t mean anything to him, Sherlock can’t think of anything more perfect than kissing John Watson. And everyone is seeing them.

They can see John flushing their bodies together, his hand travelling down to grip Sherlock’s arse, his other hand tangled in Sherlock’s hair. They cannot see (but can surely deduce) what John’s tongue is doing inside his mouth.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the kiss ends, and Sherlock finds himself gaping down at John, who is looking just as flustered as he feels, his lips swollen and red. Around them, silence.

Then people start going mad, screaming and cheering, wolf whistling and clapping.

John gives him a tentative smile before bowing to the crowd and leaving the stage.

Sherlock waves faintly and follows him.

What the fuck had happened?

 

\---

What the fuck had just happened?

John tries to breathe as he leans on the sink in the bathroom. He liked kissing Sherlock. His best friend. A _boy_.

Yes, John had once or twice fantasised about a guy in school (James Sholto, for example, god was the man hot), but had never thought he could… _actualise_ said fantasies.

Sure as hell he’s not gay, and all the girls he’s shagged (four) can testify that.

Is he… bi? Like Greg?

Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ John doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know_.

In that very minute, Sherlock opens the door to the bathroom.

“Hey _Frozen Pitch_ ,” John calls, his voice embarrassingly hoarse, using the name they used a few years ago. In ‘Too Much To Ask’, Alex Turner says “ _When you fit me / like Sunday’s frozen pitch fits the thermos flask,”_ and the two of them had started to call each other Frozen Pitch and Thermos Flask, half-jokingly, half out of affection. God, John realises, he’s always been gay as fuck.

“Hey _Thermos Flask_ ,” Sherlock replies with a furrowed brow. They hadn’t used the names in years.

Then John decides it. It’s what every sexually confused teenager would do. He should _experiment_.

Who’s better than Sherlock anyway?

“You wanna dance?” He asks, and Sherlock’s eyes fly open, his mouth slack.

“In the bathroom?” He sounds so shocked, John can do nothing but laugh.

“Not in here, you pillock,” He says in between fits of giggles. He reaches out to take Sherlock’s hand in his, and then drags him out of the men’s restroom.

Irene has put a Spotify playlist on, and David Bowie is playing loudly from the speakers.

“Oh my God, our song, Sherlock!” John yells in his best friend’s ear when he recognises the melody.

Sherlock looks flabbergasted, his eyes open wide as John starts dancing to the intro of the song.

 

_“You like me, and I like it all, we love dancing and we look divine.”_

 

John grabs Sherlock’s by his hips and starts swaying his at the rhythm of the well-known melody.

“C’mon, you look like a wooden stick, move a bit!” John shouts, and Sherlock laughs a little. Then he lets go, and God, Sherlock is mesmerising when he lets go.

“Hot tramp, I LOVE YOU SO!” John yells, and Sherlock pumps his fists in the air, laughing madly. Finally the alcohol they had drank on stage was starting flowing through his veins.

Sherlock’s face is flushed red, his eyes glassy, his lips moisty. And John forgets that one of the reasons why he was here tonight was to shag Mary Morstan. He forgets that he’s dancing with Sherlock because he wants to try what it’s like to dance with a boy, to seduce one.

He just knows that Sherlock is beautiful.

The song ends, and immediately “R U Mine” starts playing.

 

_“She’s a silver lining, lone ranger riding through an open space”_

 

Sherlock jumps up and down, singing madly, and John can’t resist it anymore.

 

_“Are you mine?”_

 

John looks into Sherlock’s eyes with intention. “Are you?” He asks. 

Sherlock sobers up immediately, his eyes flying open.

“And the thrill of the chase, moves in mysterious ways,” John sings, his hand coming up to cup Sherlock’s neck, “So in case I’m mistaken I just wanna hear you say it.”

Sherlock is watching John’s lips with his pupils blown wide, and that’s all the confirmation John needs.

“You got me baby,” John murmurs against Sherlock’s lips, “Are you mine?”

And then he kisses him again. and this time, it’s different than before.

This time, it’s teeth and battling tongue, it’s heated passion and tender curiosity, it’s the taste of cheap beer and the sweetness of Sherlock’s mouth, it’s friendship and something else.

John can’t quite put his finger on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used:
> 
>   * ["Too Much To Ask"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d09GTcacnUY) by Arctic Monkeys
>   * ["Pretty Visitors"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyLI54w3AEY) by Arctic Monkeys
>   * ["The Age of the Understatement"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dgrRbYnVuvo) by The Last Shadow Puppets; John is playing Alex's part (the one on the right), while Sherlock is playing Miles'.
>   * ["Rebel Rebel"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U16Xg_rQZkA) by David Bowie
>   * ["R U Mine"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJvKnlEXhOo) by Arctic Monkeys
> 

> 
> The song in the title is ["Reckless Serenade"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YBCiQ_iQH4) by Arctic Monkeys. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this!


	2. Death Balloon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CAME OUT WAY LONGER THAN I ANTICIPATED, so I cut it, so that it's as long as ch 1. This means I had to add a chapter to the chapter count, though *sigh*. Save me.
> 
> Enjoy! xx

\---

_“And like a grain of diamond dust you float_

_And my devotion’s outer crust cracks.”_

[Glass in the Park](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmgAlaJObHU), by _Alex Turner_

\---

 

_“Are you mine tomorrow? Or just mine tonight?”_

The last few verses of R U Mine keep playing in Sherlock’s head as he turns around in his bed, sleep eluding him.

3:41am.

John had kissed him. _Twice_. But then he had laughed like it wasn’t a big deal, shrugging it off. It had killed Sherlock both time.

Angrily, he turns up the volume of his iPod, _Creep_ by Radiohead playing at full blast, making his ears ache.

_“When you were here before,_

_Couldn’t look you in the eye,_

_You’re just like an angel,_

_Your skin makes me cry,_

_You float like a feather,_

_In a beautiful world,_

_I wish I was special,_

_You’re so fucking special.”_

 

Sherlock’s eyes prickle with unshed tears, a painful lump in his throat.

_“But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo,_

_What the hell am I doing here?_

_I don’t belong here.”_

 

Tears well up in his eyes, running slowly down his face.

Sherlock has always been _the freak_. Always been the one people escaped from. Not John. Never John.

_“I want you to notice,_

_When I’m not around,_

_You’re so fucking special,_

_I wish I was special.”_

 

Sherlock swipes at his eyes, feeling immensely foolish. Why has he ever thought someone like _John_ would ever consider him as something more than a friend? It’s already a miracle that Sherlock is his best friend (he has no idea why John keeps him around).

Suddenly, words start spilling from Sherlock’s mouth. He immediately gets up and rushes to his desk, where he sits down and starts writing.

He writes and rewrites until his eyes hurt, until dawn breaks. He figures it’s useless going to bed now, so he picks up his guitars and starts composing a melody for his words.

G, D minor, E.

Good.

He’ll play it today for his band mates, and hope John won’t understand it’s about him. No problem though, he never does.

At breakfast, Mycroft looks more smug than usual.

“What?” Sherlock snaps, shooting daggers at his older brother.

“Nothing, brother dear.”

“Oh please, I know that look,” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“Boys, behave,” their mother scolds softly, handing them homemade scones.

Sherlock glares some more at Mycroft before diving into his breakfast.

“So,” Mycroft obviously says, all sly and smirking, “I see John Hamish Watson has finally made his move.”

Sherlock’s jaw drops open.

“Oh, how lovely!” his mum exclaims, just as his father claps him on the shoulder with a “It was time, son.”

Sherlock shakes with rage. “Shut up!” He yells, gritting his teeth.

He pushes the dish away and angrily gets up. “Nothing happened, okay? And you,” he growls, stabbing his finger in Mycroft’s direction, “Keep your fat arse and your enormous nose out of my fucking business!”

This said, he grabs his guitar and his bass (already waiting for him by the door) and flies out of the house, slamming the door behind himself.

Fucking Mycroft!

Sherlock stomps across the street and to John’s house, where he punches the doorbell.

They need to rehearse, and there is no need beating around the bush. Those kisses meant nothing to John, so Sherlock’d better pretend nothing ever happened.

It’s not like John could ever feel anything other than platonic feelings for him, anyway.

\---

What had happened between him and Sherlock had decidedly _not_ been platonic. Not at all.

They were well beyond that, John thinks. They had crossed a line they couldn’t uncross.

And John isn’t in love with Sherlock… is he? Is he even bi?

It’s all a big mess.

Sleep is impossible to achieve when he’s freaking out like this. He turns the volume of his iPod up, trying to drown his thoughts.

 

_“That's me in the corner_

_That's me in the spotlight_

_Losing my religion.”_

 

Oh, yeah, John was _so_ losing his ‘religion’. He didn’t know who he was anymore, _what_ he was.

 

_“And I don't know if I can do it_

_Oh no, I've said too much_

_I haven't said enough.”_

John grits his teeth. He had _definitely_ said too much instead, _done_ too much.

His alarm beeps.

Sighing, he gets out of bed, scrubbing at his face. Yawning, he makes his way downstairs, where he slumps on a chair.

His mother is cheerfully whistling in the kitchen, while Harry is regarding him with a sly grin.

“What,” John grumbles, smearing some jam on a toast.

“Oh, nothing,” Harry says nonchalantly, “Just, Irene sent me this last night.”

She takes her phone and shows John a picture of him and Sherlock making out on stage, his hands all over his friend.

“That… That was for the audience,” John replies after a few moments, mesmerised by the sight. He and Sherlock _fit_ together.

“Sure, luv,” His twin sister replies, at which John glare.

“Shut the fuck up,” He growls, getting up from the table.

“Johnny?” His mum calls, confused.

“Oh, c’mon Johnny, you know mum and I ship you two! It’s fine to say you’re queer as fuck!” Harry yells after him, as he hurries upstairs to get his guitar and his notes.

Then he flies downstairs and throws the door open, so he can go over and rehearse at Sherlock’s, just to find said boy in front of him.

“Oh,” he cleverly says. “Hi.”

Sherlock blushes beet red, right to the tip of his ears.

“H-hi,” he stammers, but his face goes back to a mask of indifference, the flush in his cheeks disappearing.

“Hey Sherlock!” Harriet sing-songs from the kitchen. John scowls.

“Let’s get out of here.”

John shoulders past Sherlock and walks away, Sherlock following close.

“Let’s go at yours,” he says.

Sherlock clears his throat. “Better not,” he murmurs, “Mycroft’s being a pain.”

John runs a hand through his hair. He can see Harry and his mum peering at them from the window, and when he turns his gaze to Sherlock’s house, he can see the Holmes family doing the same. So they know too.

Of course they do, bloody Holmes.

John fixes his guitar on his shoulder, then grips Sherlock’s wrist and starts running.

They end up in Regent’s Park, breathless and giggling.

“That was ridiculous,” Sherlock laughs, throwing himself on the grass.

“Says the guy who blew up the school’s lab.”

“You were there too, so it wasn’t just me.”

John grins at him and can’t resist leaning forward and kissing him on the lips.

When he realises what he’s done, and Sherlock’s shocked face, he quickly says, “Adrenaline, I’m sorry. Just like last night.”

Sherlock sags a bit, but he smiles, replying, “Of course. Guessed so, don’t worry.”

“You wanna play?” John asks, trying to change the subject.

Sherlock beams at him. God, why does he have to be so _beautiful_? Bloody gorgeous. Has John ever even noticed? What’s happening to him?

“Yeah. I’ve written a song last night.”

“Great!” John croaks. He clears his throat.

“Wait, did you sleep at all?” He asks suspiciously, and Sherlock looks down.

“Sherlock, you really should sleep more,” John sighs, at which Sherlock scoffs.

John smiles fondly at him. He really loves this boy. Platonically or not, that is all to see, but he does love him.

“You wanna hear the song or mother me some more?” Sherlock questions, miffed.

John laughs. “Let’s hear it, c’mon.”

Sherlock retrieves his rhythmic guitar from its case and starts playing a slow, sweet melody.

Then he starts singing, and John feels his heart clench painfully in his chest.

“Can I read the lyrics?” He asks, a tad breathless, when Sherlock is done.

The air is crackling with tension, the song so beautiful it had made John almost cry.

On the piece of paper Sherlock gives him, John reads: “ **I Fell in Love** , by W.S.S. Holmes.”

Then he reads the lyrics.

_“I fell in love with you_

_Because I had nothing better to do._

_I just wanted someone to see_

_During the day._

_I just wanted someone to dream of_

_During the night._

_I fell in love with you_

_Because I couldn’t be alone anymore._

_I just wanted someone to talk about my dreams with_

_During the day._

_I just wanted someone to talk about love with_

_During the night._

_[BRIDGE]_

_And now that I have so many things to do_

_And nothing to talk about_

_And my dreams are fading_

_Now I can’t think of anything but you._

_I fell in love with you_

_And now I don’t know what to do._

_During the day_

_I regret meeting you._

_But during the night_

_I still come looking for you.”_

 

John doesn’t know why his eyes are misty. It’s not like this song is about him. But it’s innocently beautiful, so heartfelt and sincere and brutally honest, it makes John want to scream.

“It’s beautiful, Sherlock,” he chokes out.

Sherlock looks sheepishly at the ground. “I’m still unsure about the melody, though.”

John nods. “That’s because you should add an A major here,” he says, taking his guitar in his hands and playing the chord.

“See?” He asks, and then plays the melody again, adding some embellishments and one-string solos.

Sherlock looks mesmerised. “You’re a genius,” he breathes.

John flushes under the praise. “You’re the one who wrote beautiful lyrics. It was easy to find the right music.”

“Hey, I was thinking,” John continues, “Tonight Harry’s sleeping at dad’s, while my mum is out with her friends. Would you want to come sleep at mine, since Mycroft’s being an arse an all?”

Sherlock narrows his eyes slightly.

John tries to keep his face relaxed, his smile open, even when his stomach is churning and he feels like suffocating. _It’s not like this is the first time you invite Sherlock over, calm down_ , he tells himself.

Somehow, it feels different.

“Okay,” Sherlock replies at length.

John feels something flutter in his belly, and finds himself looking forward to the night.

\---

John likes sex. There’s no use in denying it, and John doesn’t.

He’s also had more sex than his mates. Like, Greg has shagged a girl, while Sherlock and Mike are still virgins. Bill doesn’t count, John thinks, since the guy is a slag just as he himself is. 

John has never had sex with a boy though, and that is like, the proof, no? He should know if he has sex with one, if he’s bi or straight. Hell, how does Greg know, when he’s only ever been with a girl?

John is really confused. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? It’s just a label, in the end. And yet, to John is important to have one.

Right then, the doorbell rings.

Sherlock.

John hurries to open the door and beckons Sherlock in.

They eat a shitload of pop corns for dinner, sitting on the couch as they watch Doctor Who. Sherlock keeps saying it’s dull, but never averts his eyes from the screen. John can’t take his off Sherlock, instead.

When the episodes are over, John grabs a bottle of wine and heads upstairs, Sherlock in his stride.

They start sharing the bottle, and when it’s over, they are both laughing quietly, lying on their backs on the floor, their heads close together.

“I think I’m bi,” John blurts out.

Sherlock stops laughing, and becomes suddenly silent. Then, he says, slowly, “It’s all fine.”

John hadn’t realised how much he was _scared_ of that little syllable, bi, until Sherlock had said it was just _fine_.

“Thank you,” he whispers, sincerely. Then he adds, “I’m still not sure, though.”

Sherlock shrugs, huffing.

An idea strikes John.

“Shurlock,” he calls softly, the name too complicated when he’s drunk, “You’re gay, right?”

“I came out to you when I was fourteen, John.”

“So you wouldn’t mind shagging a bloke in the future?”

“I’d say the idea would be appealing… with the right bloke.”

John nods seriously.

“But you’re still a virgin, am I wrong?”

Sherlock pauses. “I… Yes, I am.”

“Good,” John replies, his drunken mind thinking that’s the right thing to say.

“Good?” Sherlock questions, and John ignores him.

“You would want to be ready for this hypothetical boy then, right, I mean, have some experience beforehand.”

“John, what the fuck are you trying to say?”

John takes a deep breath. “I thought… maybe we could shag so I know if I’m bi and you’ll finally stop being a virgin.”

Sherlock is silent for a long while. John is already going to apologise and say forget this, we are drunk, when Sherlock replies, so softly that John almost doesn’t hear him, “Okay.”

John’s heart does something weird in his chest, his stomach clenches painfully.

“Okay.”

Silence. Then, “So, tomorrow at yours?”

Sherlock lets out a disbelieving huff. “Are you _scheduling_ our shag?”

John feels a bit embarrassed. “Well, I… why, yes.”

“You can’t _schedule_ shags.”

“Yes I can!”

“Shags shouldn’t need to be scheduled, John. It’s just awkward.”

“I schedule all the shags I want. We can shag tomorrow, or have a shag at school, or…”

“Say shag one more time and I’ll hit you with my shoe.”

John takes a deep breath. Then silence falls. Again.

“Perhaps now is the best time,” Sherlock murmurs quietly, so quietly that John almost doesn’t hear him.

Something in John’s stomach flutters.

“I… why?”

Sherlock shifts uncomfortably. “Well, your mum’s still out and Harry is not coming back until tomorrow afternoon so,” he shrugs.

“Alright,” John says, getting on his feet, a bit wobbly because of the alcohol, “Let’s get to work.”

\---

In retrospect, this has been a been a bad idea. But back off now would be just awkward. Moreover, Sherlock _does_ want to have sex with John. Badly.

Even if to John it’s just “experimenting”.

Sherlock will take everything John has to throw in his direction, despite his better judgement. Because it’s John.

And Sherlock loves him. Unconditionally.

“Ready?” John asks.

Sherlock nods faintly, and climbs on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used:
> 
>   * ["Creep"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFkzRNyygfk) by Radiohead
>   * "Losing My Religion" by REM
> 

> 
> I myself wrote the song Sherlock plays, so sorry if it sucks lmao 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! :)
> 
> See you next time for the smut, love you all! :) xx


	3. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in like, three hours in total? All today btw, because I am pretty anxious about violin rehearsals with my orchestra and I needed to calm down so... here's almost 2k of smut. And a bit of angst. 
> 
> Also sorry if this is late, I first went to Finland to find my best internet friend, and then when I got home I was hit by a major writing block. ughhhh
> 
> Many many thanks to [ishaveforsherl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ishaveforsherl) who helped me immensely with this chapter, listening to my vocal messages and talking to me about "poetic gay lovemaking". You're the beeest my dear <3
> 
> Anyway, hope you'll enjoy! :) xx

\---

_“I want you down on all fours_

_Cause you're so dark, babe_

_But I want you hard.”_

[You’re So Dark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJHOREQazHY), by _Arctic Monkeys_

\---

_“Ready?” John asks._

_Sherlock nods faintly, and climbs on the bed._

 

Sherlock kneels in front of John, a bit unsure of what to do.

“Maybe we should start by kissing,” John suggests, chuckling a little at Sherlock’s lost expression.

Sherlock glares at his friend, grabbing him by the t-shirt and kissing him deeply.

He’s got no idea of what he’s doing; he’s never kissed anyone.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” John says, disentangling himself from Sherlock’s embrace.

“Try… try like this first,” he continues, and presses his lips to Sherlock’s.

Sherlock’s heart is doing something strange in his chest, his hands are sweaty, his ears are on fire. He’s kissing John. _He’s kissing John._

He’s mind is blank, and all he can think about is a litany of ‘I’m kissing John, John is kissing me, John, John…”

Then John darts his tongue out, prying Sherlock’s lips open. Sherlock parts them, and lets John explore his mouth with his tongue.

He wants to cry.

This is all so goddamn good, Sherlock can’t believe it’s actually happening.

“Wow,” John murmurs after what might have been centuries, “Snogging a bloke is good.”

Sherlock’s stomach sinks, and he remembers that this isn’t about him ‘finally’ losing his virginity, this is about John finding out who he is.

This is not about John loving and desiring Sherlock like Sherlock loves and desires him.

John could never feel that way about Sherlock, anyway.

So he smiles, and says, “Glad you enjoyed.”

John grins back, and Sherlock loves him so much it’s unbearable.

“Good. Can I give you a blowjob?”

Sherlock’s mouth fall open, and he’s momentarily taken aback.

“I… I guess it’s fine?” He says, his heart beating so fast he is probably going to have a heart attack.

“Just if you want to,” John smirks, and fuck, how can Sherlock resist that smile?

 Sherlock feigns annoyance to hide the fact that he is on the verge of an aneurysm.

He lies on the bed and crosses his arms. “Blow me, then.”

John laughs, a booming, joyous thing that echoes through the room.

“I’m gonna take your pants off now, is it alright?”

Sherlock nods stubbornly. “Yes.”

John undoes Sherlock’s fly and takes his trousers off. Sherlock is already embarrassingly hard, and when John’s warm hands touch his hips to remove his boxer briefs, his cock twitches in interest.

John licks his lips, apparently fascinated, and slowly reveals Sherlock’s prick.

“Can I…?” John motions a wank gesture with his hand.

“Y-yes,” Sherlock replies, unable to conjure a witty answer to that dumb question. Of course John can. John can do everything he likes to him. Sherlock would thank him. 

When John’s hand wraps around his cock and pulls, Sherlock gasps and writhes on the bed, overwhelmed. No one has ever touched him like that, and he’s glad the first is John. He wouldn’t have survived this with anyone else.

“Oh god, you okay?” John asks, worried. “I have never got anyone off,” he explains, a bit embarrassed, a pretty shade of red on his cheeks.

Sherlock shakes his head, “N-no, I… It was good.”

John perks up a bit at that. “Was it?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock says with a reassuring smile.

John sighs, relieved.

“Can I… blow you now?”

Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat, and he has to take a few deep breaths before saying, “Go on.”

John nods, and grips Sherlock’s cock with one hand. He dips down and takes the head in his mouth, and any coherent thoughts Sherlock might have had disappear.

“Holy shit,” he pants, hands grasping at the sheets. John hums around his cock, creating a reverberation that has Sherlock tremble all over.

“Christ, shit, fuck, John,” Sherlock has apparently lost any dignity he had left. And yet it’s not embarrassing. Because it’s John, and Sherlock knows John won’t judge, never. Sherlock trusts John with everything he has.

So he lets himself fall.

John sucks and licks at his cock, moving his hand up and down, his warm mouth all Sherlock can feel, before his balls tighten and he’s shouting, “John move, I’m gonna-”

Then he comes, and it’s the most satisfying orgasm of his life.

 

\---

 

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbles, John’s mouth full of come. He wants to try and swallow. So he does. He smiles. It’s not that bad.

Sherlock’s mouth drops open.

“Fffuck,” he groans, throwing his head back.

“What?” John questions.

Sherlock passes a hand over his face. “That was fucking hot.”

John smirks, “Was it now?”

Sherlock smacks his arm, and John laughs.

“Now get me off, c’mon,” he says, amused, lying on the bed beside Sherlock.

Sherlock hesitates, clearly unsure on what to do.

John gives him his time. Sherlock’s face illuminates then, and he asks, “Can I try something I’ve seen in a porn magazine?”

John chuckles softly.

“All is fair game.”

Sherlock nods, and divests John lower half, exposing his achingly hard cock. He has got a hard on after blowing a bloke. This must mean something. Then Sherlock gets a pillow, that he positions under the small of John’s back.

John is curious; is Sherlock going to finger him? Blow him? What?

But Sherlock, wonderful Sherlock, surprises him, like he always does. He leans forward and spreads John’s arse cheeks, before _licking_ at John’s hole.

John gasps in surprise, writhing embarrassingly, emitting a high-pitch noise.

“Not good?” Sherlock questions, tenderly insecure.

“No it was… very, very good. Just… unexpected.”

“Can I go on then?”  

“Yes, please.”

Sherlock smiles confidently, and he’s so beautiful he takes John’s breath away.

 _I love this boy_ , John thinks, and the thought is enough to make his stomach drop.

Shit, it is one thing to think you might be bi, and trying sex with a guy.

A whole another thing is falling in love with one.

That is a lot more scary.

Sherlock has started rimming him again though, and it’s so good John doesn’t have any more time to dwell on such thoughts.

He just lets the sensation drown him, and he’s not even the least embarrassed about all the soft noises he is emitting. It’s Sherlock.

John trusts him with his life.

 

\---

 

They have swapped positions now; Sherlock, hearing how much John was enjoying himself, had got hard again, and wanted to try to be on the receiving end.

He also wanted to try and blow John off, so that’s why right now Sherlock is on all fours atop John, who is eating his arse in the most delicious way, while Sherlock sucks on John’s cock, trying to imitate what his friend had done before.

It’s an explosion of sensations, and Sherlock knows he could come only from John rimming him, but John stops and says, “My jaw is aching, let’s try something else.”

Disappointed, Sherlock lifts his head from John’s prick, and crawls up to him.

“Let’s take our shirts off, though,” John continues, “It’s bloody ridiculous.”

They take their t-shirts off, and stare at each other for long moments.

“Sherlock,” John whispers in awe, “Has anyone ever told you how gorge- how bloody _perfect_ you are?”

Sherlock blushes under the praise, even if he doesn’t believe it; he is too skinny and gangly and weird-looking to be considered even remotely beautiful.

Nevertheless, he smiles at John and says, “And I guess I’m not the first one to tell you that you look amazing as well.”

The tips of John’s ears change colour, and Sherlock grins at him smugly.

“What did you want to try then?” He asks.

John clears his throat and blushes even more.

“I… Just, me. Inside of you.”

Sherlock gasps loudly, and it is almost a sob.

“Only if you want to,” John hurries to say, waving his hands like mad.

Sherlock has always wanted this. And yet, not like this.

He wants John to love him back the same soul-wrenching way that he does, to want this because he wants _Sherlock_ , and not because he wants to experiment.

This is not about what he wants though, it’s about what John needs. So Sherlock says, “The lube is in the bedside drawer,” and lies belly down on the mattress.

 

\---

 

_“Do I wanna know_

_If this feeling flows both ways?”_

 

No. Sherlock doesn’t want to know. He already _knows_.

John doesn’t love him back. Full stop.

 _Do I Wanna Know_ keeps playing as John slides in and out of him, John’s soft groans and uneven breaths like prayers in Sherlock’s right ear.

They had turned the computer on and played John’s Spotify playlist, the one with their favourite songs. They had done so to muffle their noises, now that John’s mum was back and had gone to sleep two doors down theirs.

It’s amazing, and so… _sweet_. Sherlock didn’t think that having someone shove their dick up your arse could be so _good_. And John is such considerate a lover, so slow, so passionate… And Sherlock can barely stop himself from pretending that John loves him back.

Tears appear in Sherlock’s eyes, and start soaking the pillow.

“Shit, love, have am I hurting you?”

 

_“I don’t know if you feel the same as I do_

_We could be together if you wanted to.”_

 

_Love._

John had just called him _love_. Perhaps… Perhaps Sherlock’s love wasn’t as unrequited as he thought.

Perhaps… Perhaps this could work.  

 

\---

 

When they finish, Sherlock turns on his back, panting. John looks at him with a lazy smile. “Yep, I’m totally bisexual,” he chuckles, elated that now the word doesn’t even _scare_ him.

Sherlock is not laughing, though.

John clears his throat. “Thanks, Sherlock,” he adds, “That was amaz-”

“I love you,” Sherlock blurts out.

John freezes.

“Sherlock I... I thought we were clear about... I don’t want... I’m sorry, but this is a friends with benefits sort of thing and-”

“No!” Sherlock almost yells, turning on his side to look at John.

“It’s fine,” he smiles, “It was just... endorphin talk.”

John smiles back at him but it’s fake.

Sherlock doesn’t look fine at all.

 

\---

 

So, it’s settled. John _does_ like boys.

He just doesn’t like _Sherlock_.

Sherlock wishes this had never happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used:
> 
>   * ["Do I Wanna Know"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM) by Arctic Monkeys
> 

> 
> Thank you for every kudos, bookmark and subscription. They mean the world to me! :) 
> 
> And please leave a comment if you enjoyed, that would be amazing! <3


	4. Greet Me With Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame [ishaveforsherl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ishaveforsherl) if this chapter is angsty and if this fic just gained an extra chapter. 
> 
> But we're almost there folks, story time is almost over. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is dedicated to [shail](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shail/pseuds/shail) who wasn't feel so well today. Get well soon, darling! <3

\---

_“Stop and wait a sec,_

_Oh when you look at me like that my darling,_

_What did you expect,_

_I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck,_

_Or I did last time I checked.”_

[505](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iV5VKdcQOJE) by the _Arctic Monkeys_

\---

 

It’s been two months since John has fucked Sherlock into the mattress. It has happened four other times since then, and they all just…. Happened.

One time they were high on weed, another on adrenaline after a concert and shagged in the bathroom, another couple of times it was just them, unable to stop kissing and taking it further on Sherlock’s narrow bed.

But Sherlock has had enough. Every time it breaks his heart, having John so close and yet so, so far away, unreachable.

Sherlock draws and redraws a little bee on the side of his blank page, the voice of his teacher doesn’t even reach his ears.

“You like bees?” A kind voice asks from beside him.

Sherlock whips his head around, to find a beautiful guy, skin colour of melted chocolate and eyes like the night sky, staring at him with a white, dazzling smile.

“Are you new?” Sherlock wonders aloud.

The boy chuckles softly, “Man, I have been sitting next to you for three months now.”

Sherlock furrows his brow. He had probably deleted him.

The guy smiles. “I’m Victor Trevor, and I think bees are quite fascinating animals.”

Sherlock feels a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Bees are quite  fascinating indeed.”

“You’re quite fascinating too,” Victor says with a charming lopsided grin, and Sherlock feels himself blush to the tip of his ears.

No one has ever paid him any attention, not the kind that Victor is so clearly providing.

“Trevor, Holmes, silence please!” Mr. Dallowday shouts.

Victor turns towards the blackboard, and Sherlock keeps staring at him, unable to believe that _someone_ could ever be interested in him. Had Sherlock imagined the soft look in Victor’s eyes?

Apparently not, because when the lesson ends Victor waits for him outside.

“Hey, Sherlock!” He calls.

Sherlock turns. “How do you know my name?”

Victor giggles, “Everyone knows you and the band!”

Silence falls, a bit awkward, as Victor shuffles on his feet.

“I… I was wondering… Well, I have liked you for quite some time, but never worked up the guts to talk to you, and now I was wondering if… if you’d like to hang out, sometimes.”

Sherlock’s jaw drops and he stares into Victor’s hopeful eyes for long seconds.

So bloody blunt, the opposite of John, who can never speak about his feelings. Victor is tall and handsome and kind and open and why the bloody hell no?

At least he seems to care, unlike John.

“Okay,” answers Sherlock, and Victor lights up like a Christmas tree.

 

\---

 

John takes off his Rayban Caravan and hooks them on his shirt, following Sherlock down the stage.

“Went well, didn’t it?” He asks, breathless.

Sherlock nods faintly. He’s been awfully quiet all night.

John wants to kiss him.

He grabs Sherlock’s wrist and grips the back of his neck with the other hand. He’s already leaning up, eyes closed, when Sherlock disentangle himself from John’s embrace, and says, “Sorry, I can’t.”

John furrows his brow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Sherlock fidgets, splashes of red on his face and neck. He clears his throat.

“I uhm, I’ve got a boyfriend.”

John’s stomach drops to his feet. Of course Sherlock wouldn’t have waited.

John has fucked up so bad. Of course, _of course_ Sherlock would have found someone else. How could he not?

Sherlock is amazing, so clever and beautiful, so bloody _perfect_. And John has fucked _so bad_. Why would someone as magnificent as Sherlock wait for him to figure his shit out?

Well, up until now John hadn’t known whether he was in love with Sherlock or not.

Now the realisation hits him so bad he feels tears in his eyes.

“Wow, congratulations!” He forces himself to say in a cheerful tone. Sherlock seems disappointed.

John clears his throat. “Do I know him?”

Sherlock smiles shyly. “It’s Victor, Victor Trevor.”

Shit. John knows the man. He’s pretty popular, and he had also once asked John some information about Sherlock. Now John can see why he had done it.

“How long has this been going on then?” John feels this question is important.

Sherlock shrugs. “He talked to me a couple of weeks ago in History class, then we hanged out a couple of times and yesterday he asked me if I wanted to be his boyfriend. Y’know, he’s very forward. He doesn’t hide his feelings.”

John bites down on his lower lip.

The unspoken “unlike you,” is all John can hear.

 

\---

 

Sherlock wants to scream. It shouldn’t be hard.

Victor loves him, John doesn’t. Then why does Sherlock love John and not Victor?

Victor takes him on cute dates and holds his hand in front of everyone; Victor’s lips are soft and his kisses never taste like secrets. Sherlock wants to fall for Victor _so_ badly.

Yet, he aches for John every day, falls for him every time their eyes meet.

It’s terrifying.

 

\---

 

It’s terrifying how in love with Sherlock John is, and even more so how John has found out only after Sherlock was no longer free.

John watches as Sherlock and Victor laugh softly in the school cafeteria, his blood boiling with jealousy. He imagines being in Victor’s place, his hand on Sherlock’s thigh, being able to claim Sherlock as _his_ in front of everyone…

“Hey John,” a female voice chirps.

John turns and looks at Mary Morstan’s pretty face.

“Hi Mary,” he replies politely, but his attention is still on Sherlock and Victor, now kissing passionately. John can’t breathe.

“Are you okay?” Mary asks, a bit worried.

John shakes his head, turning his face away from the happy couple.

“Yeah, sorry, I was a bit distracted,” he explains. Mary doesn’t seem convinced, but she shrugs and shoots him a dazzling smile.

“I was wondering, tomorrow the pub where you’ll play is very close to my house, and I was… yeah, you can stop sleep at mine afterwards, if you want.”

John looks at her blue eyes and her white teeth, at her flirtatious smile and cheeky expression. And good lord does he need a shag. Sherlock is getting laid, in the end.

He gives Mary a lopsided grin. “Why not? Thank you.”

Then John goes and breaks his arm. Damnit.

 

\---

 

Playing without John is a pain. Sherlock works so much better with John, plus he hates singing solo.

But Greg, Bill and Mike all have a terrible voice, and if John can’t sing, then it’s Sherlock’s turn.

John is sitting at a table right in front of the stage, drinking a beer and leaning towards Mary Morstan. Sherlock wants to take his Hofner violin bass 500/1 and chuck it at their heads.

Greg starts playing the riff of _Do I Wanna Know_ , and it reminds Sherlock of his and John’s first time. It hurts to sing it.

 

“ _Have you no idea that you’re in deep,_

 _I dreamt about you nearly every night this week._ ”

 

Sherlock tries to look at Victor, who is staring at him in awe and with such a fondness it hurts, but his eyes are inevitably drawn to John.

 

“How many secrets can you keep?

‘Cause there’s this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow

And I play it on repeat.”

 

Fuck. Sherlock makes eye contact with John, and then it’s impossible to tear his gaze away.

 

“ _(Sad to see you go)_

_Was sorta hoping that you’d stay._

_(Even we both know)_

_That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day_.”

 

This hurts. The lyrics seem to be made just for them. Sherlock’s voice trembles.

 

“ _Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new._ ”

 

John widens his eyes, and Sherlock looks panicked at Victor, who is staring at John with a hurt expression.

Sherlock can’t do this anymore. He stops singing, and gets off the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos, bookmarks and subscription! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed <3
> 
> See you next time, and remember to follow me @[astralcasper](http://astralcasper.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Dandelion and Burdock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cheesy, fluffy, much awaited end everyone! Huge huge thanks to cami [ishaveforsherl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ishaveforsherl) who basically wrote this chapter in my whatsapp inbox lmao 
> 
> Also idk anything about English high schools, so if you don't have cheerleaders and stuff like that just... enjoy the chapter without questioning it too much. 
> 
> Enjoy! xx

\---

_“I poured my aching heart into a pop song_

_I couldn’t get the hang of poetry.”_

[Suck it and See](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zntdHaOq9W8), by the _Arctic Monkeys_

\---

 

John is paralyzed at his seat.

Mary says something, but John doesn’t even hear her.

“Sorry,” he excuses himself, and runs to the bathroom. He can’t breathe.

Was Sherlock singing to him?

 

“ _Maybe I’m too busy being yours_

 _To fall for somebody new_.”

 

This can be for no one but him. So Sherlock isn’t in love with Victor, but with _John_. Instead of relief, John feels fear clutch at his stomach, his breathing hitches.

He’s in love with Sherlock, and Sherlock is apparently in love with him, then why is it so bloody difficult? Why does it have to be so hard, why…

Man up, Watson. Life isn’t easy. You love Sherlock, then go fight for him, before Victor can win him back.

Scared shitless, John nods at his reflection and goes looking for Sherlock.

 

\---

 

“Sherlock! Sherlock, wait!” Victor calls from behind him.

Sherlock keeps running, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut.

He fucked up. He fucked up so badly.

“Sherlock, please!” Victor grips his arm, effectively stopping Sherlock’s run.

Sherlock doesn’t turn. He hears Victor sigh, and a droplet hits him in the face. It’s starting to rain.

“I’m sorry,” Victor says, and Sherlock turns and stares at Victor in shock.

“ _You_ , you are sorry? You have been nothing but amazing, I’m the asshole here, Vic,” Sherlock growls, snapping his arm away from Victor’s hold.

“Yes, I’m sorry I put you in this position. I mean, I’ve always known you had it bad for Watson,” Victor explains, and Sherlock doesn’t know if the droplets running down his face are rain or tears.

“Vic,” Sherlock starts, but Victor shakes his head.

“I knew I was just borrowing you.”

Sherlock bites down on his lower lip. “He doesn’t care for me, anyway.”

Victor smiles sadly at him. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? Because it’s the same you look at him.”

Sherlock leans forward and hugs Victor.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Victor,” he whispers, voice muffled against Victor’s damp sweater.

“Trust me, Sherlock, he loves you, I’m sure of it.”

Sherlock hugs Victor tighter, and wishes it was true.

 

\---

 

Once home, Sherlock has a shower and goes straight to bed. He’s damn tired, and he just wants to get some sleep.

He can’t stop thinking about John. Has he been so obvious in his stare? Maybe John hasn’t noticed that Sherlock was singing at him. Oh hell, of course John had noticed!

Right then, Sherlock hears a soft rattling. Pebbles, against his windowpane.

Frowning, he gets up and walks to his window, a knot in his stomach.

He peers down, and his breath catches in his throat.

 _John_.

Sherlock opens the window. “What the fuck?”

John takes a deep breath, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m, I’m not good with this kind of stuff,” he says shyly, his cheeks flushed.

“But I can… I mean, I wanted to…” John breaks off and groans, annoyed.

“I know you’re with Victor now, and I’m sorry i fucked up, I’m so sorry I told you I just wanted to be fuck buddies, I really am, I didn’t mean that… I was, I was scared, I don’t know why, and I fucked up and… listen, I’m not good with words.”

He hits play on his stereo, and “ _Love is a Laserquest_ ” starts playing.

John clears his throat, and starts singing from mid-song.

 

_“Now I can’t think of there without thinking of you_

_I doubt that comes as a surprise_

_And I can’t think of anything to dream about_

_I can’t find anywhere to hide.”_

Sherlock bites down on his lower lip, tears prickle at his eyes.

_“And when I’m hanging on by the rings around my eyes_

_And I convince myself I need another_

_For a minute it gets easier to pretend that you were just some lover.”_

John’s voice breaks, and during the guitar solo, he wipes at his wet eyes.

_When I’m pipe and slippers and rocking chair_

_Singing dreadful songs about summat_

_Will I’ve found a better method of pretending you were just some lover?_

_Will I’ve found a better method of pretending you were just some lover?”_

When the song ends, John lifts his gaze.

“You were never just a shag, Sherlock. And I know you’re with Victor now, but I… I was hoping you could… you know, be to me what you are to him.”

Sherlock sighs. John can’t even say the word ‘boyfriend’, how can Sherlock trust him with his heart?

It’s too high of a risk. John has already broken his heart once too many times. And the fact that he came to his house and sang tells nothing about his good intentions.

“Victor and I broke up,” Sherlock tells him, because maybe, John is just jealous. He doesn’t really love Sherlock.

“Does that mean…?” John asks with a smile.

“No, John,” Sherlock murmurs, and he sees the pain in John’s blue eyes.

“I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t trust you.”

John nods at the ground. “You’re right,” he says, before lifting his head and staring Sherlock in the eye.

“I will earn your trust back, because I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Just give me three days, then you’ll decide whether you want me or not.”

This said, John disappears, and Sherlock is left with a hammering heart and burning ears. Half the choice is already made.

 

\---

_Day 1_

The morning after John’s serenade, Sherlock finds a bunch of flowers on his doorstep.

It’s overly cheesy, and soppy and silly, but it makes Sherlock blush and smile nonetheless.

He picks up a red camellia and takes in its fragrant scent, and pins the flower to his backpack.

When he gets to school, he finds John immediately.

He’s waiting outside school, looking out for Sherlock.

“Here you are,” John says with a warm smile.

Sherlock tries hard not to smile back.

“You think a few flowers are gonna make me trust you again?”

John’s grin falls off his face.

“Well, no but I mean, I… I thought it’d be nice.”

“It was nice,” Sherlock says at length.

“But it’s not enough, John.”

John nods to the ground. “I’m gonna try harder then.”

 

_Day 2_

The next day though, nothing happens. John is not even at school.

Sherlock would like to say he isn’t disappointed, but he had let his hopes up. He had hoped in some grand gesture, some brave statement. Nothing happens.

 

_Day 3_

Sherlock considers skipping school. He feels ill, John’s coward retreat a slap in the face. He doesn’t want to go to school and face the man.

But his mum would see through his lies if he said he was sick.

So he grits his teeth and dresses up.

When he gets to school, something is amiss. There is almost no one in the corridors, and the few people that are there are walking to the gym.

Frowning, Sherlock follows them, and finds the gym full, the student body looking around with bored expressions.

Sherlock takes a sit next to Victor.

“The fuck is going on?” He questions to his ex-boyfriend.

Victor smiles. “Do you even attend this school? The cheerleaders are doing a show.”

“Why are you smirking that way?” Sherlock asks suspiciously.

Victor chuckles, “Oh, you’ll see.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to ask another question, when the lights go out.

When they are on again, John is in the middle of the gym.

“Hello everyone,” He yells into the mic, and a few girls swoon and scream.

“You might be wondering why I gathered you here today.”

A few laugh, but many others stare speechless, including Sherlock.

“I asked our dear cheerleaders to give me a couple of minutes before their show. The thing is, I’m in love, and I fucked up. I’m in love with someone who thinks they are just fun to me, that I will hurt them again.”

John slowly walks towards Sherlock, and kneels in front of him.

“Sherlock Holmes, I swear in front of all these people that I will never, ever hurt you again. I love you, please forgive me.”

Sherlock tries hard to breathe without hyperventilating.

“Also, will you be my boyfriend?”

Sherlock doesn’t care he’s crying.

“You cheesy bastard, yes,” he says, and kisses John Watson in front of the whole damn school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used:
> 
>   * ["Love is a Laserquest"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0BJAunaulxc) by Arctic Monkeys
> 

> 
> Thank you for reading so far! This fic has been much fun to write, please leave a comment if you enjoyed this! :)
> 
> See you next fic, and follow me on my [tumblr](http://astralcasper.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Bye, it was a pleasure! <3


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